


Happy Accidents

by meanestvenus



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanestvenus/pseuds/meanestvenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sidney Crosby and Claude Giroux meet by accident, and one time they meet on purpose. </p><p> Oh hell fucking no, Sid thought when he climbed the stairs to his favorite floor of the humanities library and saw asshole skinny jeans plaid shirt ginger dude from the other day sitting in his library cubby (#87; it had been Sidney’s favorite since his first year, in a good spot with a tree in the window and a cute penguin sticker hidden on the bottom of the desk which Sidney may or may not have discovered during an Exam Time Meltdown.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Accidents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse/gifts).



> Sidney and Claude go to the University of Ottawa, because it's a city they've both spent time in and I was not going to set this in either Pittsburgh or Philly. Also, apparently Ottawa doesn't have a subway, but I needed my public transportation scene. And the bar probably wouldn't be showing a Pens/Flyers game, but roll with it. Unbeta'd, so beware.

1\. Sidney was walking to his 12:15 Statistics class when someone fucking ran into him. To be fair, the halls were full of people who were heading out to lunch, or to class, but the force with which this complete asshole ran into him meant that his books—which were all in his arms thanks to one of Army’s pranks involving his backpack— went flying everywhere. 

“Watch it, asshole,” the other guy, a ginger with fine features, growled.

“Excuse me? You knocked into me,” Sidney said back, outraged.

“Well, you weren’t looking where you were going,” the dude said, crossing his arms in his plaid shirt.

“What’s your excuse?” Sidney snapped back. The dude rolled his eyes, cursed in French, and tried to step around Sidney.

“Hey,” he said—in a high-pitched voice, maybe, whatever—reaching out a hand to grab this guy’s surprisingly toned biceps and stop him.

“Pick up my books,” Sidney demanded.

“Fucking whiner,” the guy muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Sidney said loudly.

The guy leveled his eyes at Sidney, unimpressed. 

“I said, you’re a fucking whiner who can’t—“ but he was cut off by Geno appearing behind Sid’s shoulder, close enough to make it obvious they were friends.

“Sid okay?” He asked, not looking at Sidney at all, instead glowering at asshole ginger dude. Sidney knew if he didn’t answer positively within five seconds, Geno would probably deck the dude. And he really wanted to give this asshole a piece of his mind by himself, so he enjoyed the other dude trying not to squirm before he said, “Fine.” After all, he wanted to be on time to class.

He and Geno glared at the guy’s back as he swaggered away in his stupid skinny jeans while they picked up Sid’s books and Max called from the end of the hallway, “Move, Crosby!”

(Because Flower’s girlfriend Vero had somehow got him obsessed with period dramas, and when she was busy he insisted on forcing someone to be his alternate viewing partner. Because Sid was unlucky—or, as Flower insisted, “the luckiest of all my friends”— he found himself watching 2005’s Pride and Prejudice one night. He was watching floppy-haired Mr. Bingley, lost in his small, pointed features when he absentmindedly murmured, “He’s gorgeous.” Flower cackled and slapped him on the back, saying, “Gingers, eh?” Sidney flushed, and for some reason immediately thought of this rude prick from earlier this week. “Definitely not gingers,” he muttered into the rim of his beer bottle.)

2\. Oh hell fucking no, Sid thought when he climbed the stairs to his favorite floor of the humanities library and saw asshole skinny jeans plaid shirt ginger dude from the other day sitting in his library cubby (#87; it had been Sidney’s favorite since his first year, in a good spot with a tree in the window and a cute penguin sticker hidden on the bottom of the desk which Sidney may or may not have discovered during an Exam Time Meltdown.) 

Sidney didn’t waste a second in stomping over there and slamming his stuff down on the desk on top of the other dude’s. He looked up, surprised and with headphones in, before narrowing his eyes and taking them out.

“What the ever living fuck are you doing here,” Sidney spat, trying to keep his voice down and not cause a scene. It might be kind of hard considering the area was silent, one of the reasons he loved it, but Sidney had a massive essay to work on and he was going to sit in his goddamn desk.

“Studying. It’s what most people tend to do in the library,” asshole ginger said sarcastically. His lips curled in a slim smirk.

“This is my desk,” Sidney insisted, not moving.

“Actually, you can’t register for cubbies here except on the third and seventh floor,” the guy said snottily, a fact which Sidney already knew.

“Okay, but this has been my desk from the third week of freshman year,” Sidney said, “No one’s ever sat in it when I needed it.” He practically lived at that desk during certain times of the year. He’s never not worked on an important paper there.

“First time for everything,” ginger dude smirked. “Also, you really didn’t think it would happen eventually?”

Sidney tried to contain his irritation by taking a deep breath because clearly this asshole was getting off on it, but it had been a shitty day and he really needed to do work.

“There are free desks over there,” asshole ginger said, waving vaguely down the row at some desks that were not Sidney’s and moving to pop his earbuds in.

So Sidney did what anyone (okay, maybe just him) would do and pulled up another chair to the desk, sat down, and tried to open his textbooks on the desk. 

“Crisse,” ginger muttered before looking at Sidney and asking, “Seriously? Are you fucking with me?”

Sidney sniffed, didn’t bother to respond, and then the guy tried to shove him off his chair. Honestly, no manners, this guy. 

“Get off,” he said, but Sidney’s advanced quadricep and gluteal strength kept him on the chair, so the guy gave up and tried to dump his books off instead. Those things were fucking expensive and Sidney wanted to resell them at the end of the semester and he couldn’t if some maniac ginger French-Canadian did that, so he threw himself on top of them. Which, he realized after a second of strained silence, meant that he was essentially bent over the desk with the dude right behind him. The dude sat down, sighed, and said, “You’re one crazy motherfucker, Crosby. I can’t believe you care about this desk that much, you should put your fucking name on it.”

Sid looked over his shoulder, and also his ass, at the dude and asked, “How do you know my name?”  
The smirk was back. “It’s hard to miss your friends screaming it the hallway.” 

Sid looked at him for a second longer. “Oh. Um, and you’re…”

The dude rolled his eyes again, shaking his shoulder-length hair a bit. “Someone looking to avoid you in the future.”

He stood up abruptly. “Okay, fucker, I have class anyways. Get your enormous ass out of my face so I can get my books and never ever return, even though this is a good cubby.”  
Sidney blushed because he couldn’t help it. His ass was slightly above-average, not enormous, thank you. He moved and miraculously the guy cleared up his stuff, including a notebook that said ‘Uncle Claude’ in sloppy glitter, and left. Then Sidney got down to work.

(A week or so later, Sidney found ‘CLAUDE GIROUX WAS HERE’ scratched into the side of the desk when he was bored. He spent twenty minutes pencilling ‘NO VANDALISM ON THE DESKS’ right under it.)

3\. Sidney was wandering the modern lit stacks looking for a book when he saw a person he still wanted to call ginger skinny jeans plaid shirt asshole but figured he now had to call Claude. Or maybe Giroux. Yeah, Giroux. He was standing and looking at a book, right near where Sidney had to pick up his. Sidney walked over and saw that it was Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms.

“That’s a shitty book,” he said, looking over Giroux’s shoulder. Giroux started, dropped the book, and looked over at Sid as he picked it up.

“That’s fucking creepy,” he said.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like reading a grade six’s essay on the first prime ministers, or anything. But it’s pretty boring and all of the characters are assholes and it’s so overrated,” Sidney continued, ignoring the creepy comment. 

Giroux eyed him. “This is one of the best books I’ve ever read.”

Sidney shrugged. “Guess you have bad taste then.”

Giroux rolled his eyes. “Good thing I don’t give a fuck what you think.” 

They’re silent for a second. Then Sidney said, “You seriously like it?”

Giroux laughed, and it was only little mean. “You’re unfuckingbelievable.” He walked away.

Sidney didn’t really have anything to say to that, because he was self-aware enough to know it was sometimes true. He turned to the shelf to look for other copies of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms because as much as he hated it, the English course he was taking had a paper due in three days about a comparison of attitudes presented in literature 1914-1930 about the affects of World War I and he’d chosen it as one of his works to look at. It was mostly done, but he needed to do his footnotes and he accidentally gave his copy to Jordy, so he would never see it again. 

“Hey!” he shouted a second later, because that was definitely the last fucking copy in the library. He knew the bookstore was out and—“Hey!” he shouted again, speeding after Giroux. Giroux turned around, mostly unimpressed but a little amused with Sidney’s antics.

“I need that book,” he blurted. 

Giroux cocked an eyebrow. “I saw this was the last one left. I got lucky. I’m guessing you didn’t?” He waved his book around in front of Sidney’s face a little, because he was an asshole. 

“Give me that book. I only need it for a couple hours at most, and then I’ll give it straight to you,” Sidney said, looking intensely in Giroux’s face.  
Giroux snorted. “I don’t think so, cupcake.”  
“Just-” Sidney said, reaching for the book.  
“Something you want?” Giroux taunted, moving out of his way.  
Then Sidney lunged for real and they fell on the floor, Giroux trying to get away with the book, Sidney trying to hold him down and get the book, and they were grunting and cursing each other out and probably making a lot of noise because Abby Sharp came to their stack and looked at them sternly. They stopped moving under her disapproving gaze.  
“You know, boys, I’ve seen some shit hanging out with the Patricks. But even they don’t wrestle half-naked and loudly in the library. Where people come to study.” Sidney looked away from Abby’s face and oh, yeah, his shirt was shoved up so high his chest and abs and even hips were on view. Claude’s stupid skinny jeans had slipped down, revealing a strip of stomach and obnoxiously bright orange boxer briefs. Sidney blushed and looked away as he fixed his shirt.  
“Sorry, that got out of hand,” he murmured.  
Claude stood and pulled his pants up. “Jesus, Crosby, I had no idea you wanted get me naked so badly,” he snarked.  
“Okay,” Abby said, walking away. She glanced back, and Sidney almost swore he saw her make the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. Sidney shivered. He didn’t categorize himself as an out-of-control immature teenage boy, but if he did, Abby would terrify him. As it was, she still kinda terrified him.

They stood around awkwardly for a few seconds, Sidney looking at the ground, thinking of how he was going to finish his paper by Thursday if he didn’t have a copy by tonight. Claude pulled his—plaid, of fucking course—shirt straight, and then said, “Later, Crazy.” Sidney watched his backwards baseball cap disappear towards the stairs. 

Uncalled for, Sidney thought. Or, actually, maybe it was called for. He wasn’t usually this crazy, he was pretty sure. He would ask Flower, except Flower was sort of crazy himself. Fuck. 

Sidney rubbed a hand over his face before deciding to start working on something else. He could beat Jordy’s ass for losing his book tomorrow.

(The next day, in the afternoon, Sidney found a copy of the Farewell to Arms left in his study cubby. It had a memorable, tacky ‘70s cover and looked suspiciously like the one he had fought Claude over.)

4\. Exams started in five days, but Claude wasn’t feeling too stressed. He was golden in his statistics and international relations classes, and he needed to do some review for his Early Mesoamerican Civilisations class, but he could bring a 8”x 11” cheat sheet in, so he wasn't worried. He had been practically living in the library, but that might have something to do with the fact that Danny’s parents were in town so he didn’t need to babysit, and also Sean was having tons of obnoxiously loud, frustration-fueled sex. Claude hadn’t even seen Brayden since he had found him collapsed in the front hallway a few days ago, sleeping off what must have been a massive, ill-timed bender. He was a little bit afraid to knock on Brayden’s door and find him actually dead from the exhaustion of cramming. So the library was the place to be. It was surprisingly chill, and Wayne made a good study-table sharing buddy.

On his way back from the bathroom, he passed the Medieval Europe section, and saw a flash of dark curly hair. He heard sniffling too, but it was winter and everybody and their cat was sick. But then he froze because he realized, holy shit, that was hilariously-weird-and-dorky with the fantastic ass Sidney Crosby. Crying. In the stacks.

Claude suddenly felt uncomfortable, like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to see. Which he was, probably, because Sidney Crosby didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d enjoy crying in front of anyone, never mind in public. Claude slowly walked backwards. And Sidney looked wrecked, his eyes and nose were red, he was pouting, his hair was a fucking mess like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. Looking at him like this, miserable and exhausted, instead of his usual stubborn and determined, felt weird. Like things were off kilter. So Claude started walking towards him. After all, he had the time, and he would be returning balance to the universe. Or something. 

Sidney looked up at him when he got close, his forehead pinched, and then started swiping at the wetness on his cheeks. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Claude, he just sat with his back to the shelf, side by side with Crosby. 

“You look like shit,” he said after a few moments, because Sidney did. His face was super pale and Claude swore his under eye circles were dark purple.

“Fuck off,” Sidney grumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve—which, gross—but he hadn’t shoved Claude away yet, which was good. It would make sense if he had, because getting caught crying when you’re a sophomore in college is embarrassing, especially if it was by someone you didn’t like.

“Seriously, I think they call that color eggplant,” Claude said, reaching forward and poking under one of Sidney’s eyes. Sidney batted him away hard.

“Shut the fuck up, okay, sorry I don’t look like a fucking model but I haven’t slept in three days and I’m so fucking tired and I have this fucking paper—“ Sidney swallowed. Claude watched his eyes fill again.

“That’s rough. Exams suck balls,” Claude said honestly.

Sidney scowled and turned to look at him. “Oh do they, you think?”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “Hey, just trying to commiserate here. If you’re going to tackle me again, I think I’ll go back to my stuff.”

Sidney huffed and turned to face front again. After a minute he said quietly, “I have a full scholarship. And I’m a good student, I’m fucking great, I’m going to graduate early and honors and everything. But if I fuck up these two term papers, they can take me down to a partial scholarship.” He cleared his throat, still looking straight ahead. “And I can’t pay that.”

Claude didn’t say anything. It made sense that maybe some of Crosby’s personality quirks, or rather tight-assedness, came from being under constant pressure. There was enough pressure to do well in school and find a job, to succeed, without knowing it could be yanked out from under your feet at any second. 

“I have no idea why the fuck I just told you that,” Sidney said. 

Claude smirked and bumped their shoulders. “My irresistible charm, of course.”

Sidney rolled his eyes with a small smile and finally made eye contact with Claude. “Of course.”

Then his stomach growled. Loudly.

Sidney blushed and put a hand on his stomach while Claude laughed his head off.

“You want something to eat?” He asked Sidney, smiling. 

“It’s 2 am. None of the cafs are open,” Sidney stated. Claude stood up and held out a hand to help Sidney up.

“You’re not one of those vegan assholes, are you?” Claude asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Sidney wasn’t, so Claude had to admit he wasn’t an asshat in every possible way. There was a secret microwave on the sixth floor in the Art History section. One of Claude’s friends had shown him when she graduated, because apparently by that point she’d stopped giving a shit about the rules that governed a microwave that was against the rules.

Now, Claude usually avoided the microwave when he brought grilled cheese, because it made it all nasty and soggy. But in this case, a moment of dire need of comfort food, a warm grilled cheese sounded fantastic. He was almost sorry he wouldn’t be the one eating it. 

Sidney looked skeptical as he followed Claude to the sixth floor. 

“You’re not going to jump me, are you?” He asked, eyeing the way that the rooms got darker and the stacks closer together.

Claude smirked over his shoulder. “What, like you did in the Modern Lit section?”

Sidney blushed. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he muttered, not meeting Claude’s gaze.  
Claude grinned. Sidney looked so stupid—okay, cute— when he was embarrassed. 

“Though, if you’re going to do the other kind of jumping, this is a pretty ideal section,” he mused, laughing when Sidney turned redder.

Soon enough, Claude had prepared the grilled cheese and Sidney was making loud, pornographic moans as he ate it. To distract himself from the look of bliss on Sidney’s face, though he was proud of putting it there, Claude said, “You know, I’m not on the scholarships committee—“ Sidney raised an eyebrow sassily as if to say, Oh Really?—“But you must be a pretty good student, because you’re here even more than me and I’m here all the time.” Sidney chewed more slowly and looked at him thoughtfully.  
Claude continued, “And if you put your crazy, unbelievable determination into your studies as well as you put it into body-checking randoms, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”  
Sidney had finished his sandwich by now, because he clearly didn’t understand how to savor things, and said, “Thanks.”  
They stared at each other for a few seconds, Sidney’s gaze all intense like he was trying to figure something out, Claude trying not to freak about how he had just given someone else his sacred post-midnight sandwich.  
“I should go,” Sidney finally said, and Claude quickly nodded.  
“Yeah. Get the hell out of here, I have something better to do,” Claude said, slapping Sidney’s shoulder as he turned to walk out. Sidney raised an eyebrow over his shoulder, but muttered his thanks and disappeared. Claude tried not to watch his stupid bow-legged walk away. He didn’t succeed.

(When he got back to their shared table, Wayne asked him, “What did you do with your sandwich?”  
Probably because Claude’s stomach had growled absurdly loudly when he sat down, in anticipation of his snack, or maybe because Wayne’d seen Claude grab it an hour before he usually did.  
He shrugged. “Someone else needed the cheesy goodness.”  
Wayne gave him an extremely unimpressed look. “You gave your grilled cheese to someone else.” Claude could tell Wayne was going to need further explanation before he let this go. He leant back in his chair and rolled his eyes.  
“Somebody was having a breakdown, I decided to be a good soul,” he said.  
“You decided to be a good soul by parting with your sandwich,” Wayne said, clearly seeing right through Claude’s faux-chillness. “I tried to pay you for your sandwich once, in midterms. You said no.”  
Claude huffed in protest. “It’s not just a sandwich.”  
“Exactly.” Wayne said.)

5\. Claude was having the shittiest day ever. His Psych 204 essay had come back with marks from the TA all over it. He’d woken up late and hungover from Brayden’s frat brother’s party (fuck you Schenn, never again.) He hadn’t bothered with breakfast because he didn’t want to be late, but he was anyways. His headache had never gone away. (Fuck you, Schenn.) His roommates had left their flat in an absolute mess, despite the fact he had had a serious talk with them about where empty pizza boxes from two weeks ago belonged. He had three classes, on top of a meeting with a TA for one of his history classes in the evening. Fuck his entire life. 

On his way to his 7:30 pm meeting, when everything was blissfully dark and no one was out because of the absurd Ontario cold, he thought he saw someone he knew outside of the main History building. And then he recognized Sidney Crosby just as he slipped on the absurd February ice and fell on his ass.

Claude couldn’t help cracking up, because for some reason watching people injure themselves in a minor way was funny, okay? And also, he hadn’t laughed all day, had barely even smiled, and here Sidney Crosby was, slipped on his ass, presented to him like a gift from the universe. Sidney looked over at him, looking totally betrayed, and Claude couldn’t stop laughing at his stupid fucking sad little pouty face! He was doubled over, now, practically crying, and Sidney was clearly judging him, but then Claude slipped too and stopped for a second. He looked at the ice in front of him and underneath his feet before cracking up again, and then Sidney was laughing some stupid giggle-honk, and Claude couldn’t fucking stop to save his life. He was laughing so hard his abs hurt, and he thought he might puke, but it was just so funny. Maybe to some passerby it wouldn’t be, but Claude was laughing so hard he snorted. And he didn’t even care. 

He was close to Sidney now, had slipped somehow during his lying-on-the-ground-can’t-stop-laughing fit, and Sidney was cackling too, and what a world this was. Claude’s ass and upper back hurt like fuck from the slam into the ice, but it was bearable because he was laughing.

“Okay, okay. Okay. We have to stand—“ Sidney said, but then Claude grabbed his hand, and he started giggling and honking again in this terrible, should-be-super-unattractive-but-isn’t way. Claude was practically rolling around on the ice, he could’t even remember the last time he laughed this hard, maybe when Sean accidentally slept for 30 hours and thought it was a different week, and it hurt but felt good more. 

“Seriously, you fucker,” Sidney gasped, “I have to get to the library.” They lay side by side, head to toe, on the ice for a second before Claude remembered his TA meeting and agreed.

“Okay. Give me your hand,” and Sidney reluctantly put a glove in his. “Scooch to the railing,” he added, but Sidney was already dragging them that way. Sidney put a hand on the railing and said, “Get over here, fatass,” without a hint of malice in his voice.

“Should be calling you that,” Claude grumbled, but he scooted over. Sidney put his free hand on the railing, and on “One-two-three” hauled him up so their weight was on the railing instead of on, well, each other.

“If you lose your grip I’m not coming back for you,” Sidney bitched, but he laughed a second later when Claude lost his balance and basically did the splits. Claude laughed too, because Sidney’s laugh was so fucking stupid, but he got himself together so he could stand with the help of the railing. He was pressed up near Sidney, from shoulder to thigh, and Sidney was so warm. Did people normally give off this much body heat? Maybe the cold had somehow reset his sensitivity. It must have, because Sidney suddenly slipped right into him, and he was tingling warmly from chest to upper thigh. 

Eventually, after a few false starts and giggle fits, they made it up the railing and stairs to the de-iced pathway near the entrance. Sidney smiled at him, wide and open and silly, and then tamed his smile.

“I guess I should go,” Sidney coughed, looking away. 

They didn’t really know each other, and Sidney was definitely a handful, and a handful if you knew what Claude meant, but suddenly Claude didn’t want to say goodbye.

He blamed what he said next on that sudden impulse. “Can I see you again?”

Sidney looked a little confused and wide-eyed when he said slowly, “Like, outside of the library?”

Claude smiled, but also snorted because he was basically as obvious as possible as possible and this dork still didn’t get it. “Yeah.” He nodded too, for good measure.

Sidney looked him up and down appraisingly. “Will you give me my cubby back?”

Claude smirked a little sleazily. “Not if it gets you sitting in my lap.”

Sidney squawked in outrage, and went red everywhere Claude could see—and he wanted to know how far down that flush spread. 

They were already close, barely touching the railing because they didn’t need the railing for support anymore, but Sidney leant closer.

“Okay,” he breathed onto Claude’s lips, and then pressed their lips together. Sidney’s lips were slightly chapped, so they dragged on his own, but so warm and tender it sent a thrill up his spine. Claude wasn’t sure he’d ever felt something so right. He couldn’t help wrapping a hand around Sidney’s neck and soft curls to pull him closer, and when Sidney flicked his tongue against the seam of Claude’s lips, he opened up and let their tongues touch, electric.

(Claude was late to his meeting, but he’d never cared less.)

6\. This time, it was on purpose. It was actually goddamn planned. Claude picked Sidney up exactly at 6:03 outside that marvelous History Building, even if he wanted to be later so he could act cool. They walked to a bar, chirping each other about everything conceivable, from outfit to major choices. It was natural, enjoyable, and Claude had the feeling that if this didn’t work out it was going to leave him more fucked up than that one time he hooked up with Danny. His decade-older neighbor and buddy who he regularly babysat for, whose boys called him ‘Uncle Claude’. More fucked up than that shouldn’t even be a possibility.

Sidney shrugged off his overcoat once they settled into the bar, and Claude had to swallow heavily at the sight of his skin-tight blue button-up. Christ, he’d known Sidney was hot, but now he was trying not to pop a boner in a neighborhood pub. Not exactly classy, but he would avoid chirping by not telling Sean and Brayden. And Wayne. And Danny, fuck, he couldn’t be that far gone on some dorky History major who has crazy superstitions, but he was. 

As soon as they sat down in the bar and ordered, they were carded. It happens, law and all that. Sidney’s ID caught Claude’s eye.

He grabbed Sidney’s ID before he could put it away, despite the fact he was clearly trying to hide it. 

In his beautiful Province of Nova Scotia Driver’s License photo, Sidney looked all of 13. His hair was wild and untamed, his face was caught in an expression of awkwardness you could only find in teenage boys, and he had a bright red pimple near his divine, gonna-pop-a-boner-looking-at-them lips. 

Claude cackled. Sidney frowned and dragged it away to put in his wallet. 

“You look twelve, maybe eleven and a half,” Claude smirked. 

“I look seventeen, thank you very fucking much,” Sidney muttered against the rim of his beer bottle. He had turned red.

“It’s cute,” Claude said, and Sidney sent him a suspicious look. “If I was into underaged boys with stupid hair.”

Sidney rolled his eyes and held a hand out. “Show me yours.”

Claude raised one of his eyebrows, because he couldn’t resist a good innuendo. Sidney flushed redder, from his hairline to the collarbones peeking out of his shirt. It was charming, so Claude retrieved his ID.

“You look like a wasted hobo,” He said, frowning at Claude’s ID. He glanced at Claude’s face, smirked, and then said, “Make that a disheveled 50-year old hobo who hasn’t bathed in such long time they don’t even remember what a shower is.”

Claude grinned. “I don’t know, I hear the greasy hobo look is pretty popular with guys these days.”

Unexpectedly, Sidney kept eye contact as he handed back Claude’s ID and said, “Yeah. I can see why.” The fucker was still blushing a little, but looked unrepentant. Claude felt a thrill of heat in his chest—and, okay, his dick—at Sidney’s sudden boldness. He took a long drag from his beer to recover. 

The TV at the bar was showing a Pittsburgh Penguins vs. Philadelphia Flyers game, and Claude wasn’t expecting this guy to know hockey, really know hockey, but he did. It’s a plus.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sidney said, rolling his soft brown eyes. “You can’t actually believe the Flyers have better offensive play.”

A second after he said that, the Flyers scored. Claude arched an eyebrow and turned to Sid, who was looking uncomfortable at being wrong. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Claude said, smirking and taking another swig of beer.

Sidney rolled his eyes. “So Kunitz needs to straighten up. What, is this round on me?”

Claude smiled more brightly, and Sidney tried to hide his grin as he gestured to the bartender and ordered more.  
They stayed for the whole game, chatting about everything from their sisters to their roommates to who they considered hockey legends. The Flyers lost, and when Claude dramatically bemoaned the cruelty of the hockey gods, Sidney smiled mischievously and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. And then left his hand there, so warm it felt like a brand even through Claude’s shirt. 

They both had morning class, because second-year classes were scheduled terribly, so they packed it in. Claude tried not to show how happy he was that Sidney lived in neighborhood near his and would be taking the same subway line. It meant he had some extra time with this admittedly gorgeous asshole, who was turning out to be less of an asshole every minute. 

Claude snagged a seat immediately when they got into the subway car. Sidney looked unimpressed. 

“What? Does your ass even fit in these seats?” He teased.

Sidney raised his chin in defiance and stood in front of him, grasping a handhold. “You are not a very considerate date, Claude.”

Claude felt a surge of happiness at the word date, despite the fact he was being chirped. He must have taken too long to respond, caught up in his squishy emotions, because Sidney’s face fell.  
“I mean—I thought—,” he started to say, faltering, before Claude burst in “No! I mean, yes! It’s a date!” Very loudly, too. A few people sitting near them gave them the stink eye. Claude flushed, but Sidney looked better.  
“Good,” he said smugly.  
“Sorry, I’m not really good at this,” Claude said, feeling awkward. It was true, he didn’t usually date, and there was a reason. Actually, many reasons.  
Sidney titled his head, smiling softly. “I don’t know. The first time I met you, you cursed in my face and we almost threw down in the hallway. Now you’ve taken me on one of the best dates of my life. You must be doing something right.” 

Claude twisted his lips, still chastened. “You still can have my seat, if you want.”

Sidney’s smiled wider. “I think—“ 

And then the subway car went around a hard bend, knocking people everywhere, specifically knocking Sidney onto Claude, specifically throwing Sidney into Claude’s lap so his hands gripped Claude’s shoulders and Claude was grasping Sidney’s waist. The car righted itself after a second, but neither of them could move. Claude swallowed hard and Sidney licked his lips, as they stared into each other’s eyes. Claude licked his lips as well, subconsciously mirroring Sidney, and Sidney made a small cut-off sound. 

“Want to walk me to my door?” Claude finally asked, because he lived closer. Sidney nodded slowly, still looking, and stood up again. Claude smoothed his hands down his jeans, trying to calm himself, and prayed that he didn’t need to adjust himself. Sidney was chewing on his lip, mauling it, making it bright red and wet, as he carefully watched the stations change. Right before Claude’s, he grabbed Claude’s hand, pulled him out of his seat, and then dragged him out when the doors opened. Sidney didn’t let go as he led the way out of the station purposefully, only looking back when Claude interlaced their fingers. Claude was pretty sure they rudely banged into every other person there, but he wasn’t about to stop Sidney if this was going where he thought it was. 

Finally they burst out into the fucking arctic Ottawa weather and Claude laughed. 

“You’re a maniac,” he said, but Sidney just grinned. Claude just had to smile dopily back. 

“Okay, okay, so where’s this door I’m going to kiss you in front of?” Sidney said, getting back to the program. 

“Well,” Claude said casually, “There’s also a doorway, you know, it’s pretty cold out, and a hallway, and a couch, and a b—“ Sidney kissed him lushly, hard and delicious and with a lot of tongue. When he pulled away, Claude was slightly dazed. 

“Claude,” Sidney groaned, tugging on Claude’s hand. 

Claude snapped back to matters at hand. “I really like you. And your face.”

“You’re telling me this at an OC Transpo station instead of your house?”

Claude rolled his eyes, but didn’t pretend to be mad. “So hard to please,” he said, turning them down the street to his house. 

“Not my fault you’re a terrible date.”

“Excuse-moi I’m a fantastic date.”

“You will be when you accept the superiority of the Pens.”

“Am I allowed to make out with you when you start saying stupid shit too?”

“It’s not stupid sh—“

They knocked over two trash bins and some lady’s flowerpot on the way to Claude’s. Sidney made them stop and put everything back, to Claude’s annoyance. 

(Still worth it though.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the ridiculous result of my love for college/uni aus (which might be obvious from the way I tried to include THEM ALL), my actual uni experiences (i may or may not be the one who accidentally slept for 30 hours and thought it was a different week) and the strange and unstoppable fabulousness of grilled cheesby. Hope you enjoyed!


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